Song of myself, ourself

I stood at the Hoh Head on the Washington coast and looked out on the lone, proud rock that stood hard against the sea

And the clouds moved like a membrane, how they swelled and became gauze across my eyes and it felt good, like a burial cloth

And I realized I was in a painting then looking out on the lone, proud rock, imagining myself there:

And the waves rolled in and began to accumulate, and the birds made W’s and M’s when they flapped their wings, and I made words in my head

And in the corner of the picture was a figure with his hands in his pockets looking across the sea, longing for it

To be nature’s guest for a night, to take in what we can, to fill our pockets full of rocks, and wear ourselves out

I took to the woods to disappear, to run until my feet disappeared into the ground and I lost all feeling

And it was not me on the path then but something more that managed to emerge

I walked out on the tide to follow it to the lone, proud rock, and thought I could be one with it if I just kept going, until my feet sank into the sand and swallowed me

We are like the waves too, crashing as if by accident into each other, racing to the shore, then receding

And it’s why we come back, to remember there’s more than ourselves and we can disappear,

To know we can’t take it with us and don’t need to, it’s always here.
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About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Song of myself, ourself

  1. elainecanham says:

    That was quite powerful, and I liked the picture very much.

    Like

  2. ksbeth says:

    yes, it’s always there. – pretty words and pic –

    Like

  3. rossmurray1 says:

    “To be nature’s guest for the night” is wonderful. I feel you feeling good writing this/experiencing this.

    Like

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